“Who?” asked a Sister.
“The Confederates,” she replied.
While they were still speaking they heard the whizzing and rattling of bullets outside. The head of the boat was immediately turned, but the firing from both sides of the river continued for some minutes. Had the assailants waited till the boat had come within range of the cannon nothing could have saved her. Their impetuosity defeated their attempt. As it was, the escape of the boat was considered miraculous. The Sisters afterwards met a gentleman who had been among the Confederates at Glasgow on that occasion. He told them that the Southerners never could account for the escape of the “Sioux City.” There were five hundred infantry on the right bank and one thousand cavalry on the left. No one on board was wounded, but the craft was very much damaged. The pilot-house was completely riddled, as the Confederates had aimed particularly at the helmsman. The Southerners afterwards declared they did not know there were women on board when they fired on the boat, above all, the Sisters, for they were especially courteous to all who wore the religious habit. During the danger the other ladies were placed by the officers in the part of the boat which was least exposed. The Sisters stood in readiness to wait on the wounded, but blessed God that there were none such this time. When all peril was over one of the Sisters caused much amusement by saying “I continued to say my office all through the firing, so that I might have it finished before being shot.”
During the return voyage much apprehension was felt, because the Confederates were supposed to be in ambush at different points. About ten miles below Glasgow the boat stuck in a sand-bar, and the efforts of the men to release her were more terrifying than the Southern bullets. This was the last attempt made to reach Lexington. Meanwhile Colonel Mulligan’s brigade of two thousand men was surrounded by Price’s men, supposed to number twenty thousand. For three days the brigade made a gallant resistance. Their supply of water had been cut off for forty-eight hours, when they surrendered to General Price, September 20, 1861. The General proved himself a generous enemy, and his conduct won the esteem and gratitude of his distinguished prisoner. The two men became sincere friends before they parted.
The Sisters continued to occupy the Mosely residence. They experienced the greatest kindness and respect from the colored people left in charge of it. To the simple souls they were a great curiosity.
The old housekeeper wanted all her friends to come to see the Sisters, and numbers responded to her ardent invitations. These guests were puzzled to account for the want of resemblance between persons related to each other, as they thought, in the first degree. “You say this lady is your sister,” said one, “but she doesn’t look like you at all, nor this one, either.” It took some time to make them understand that the relationship was not in blood, but in spirit and profession.
The Jefferson City Hospital for the sick and wounded was placed under the care of the Sisters. This charge they readily undertook at the request of the authorities, as their original project of going to Lexington had proved impracticable. They found the poor soldiers in wretched condition. The hospital, a very recently established institution, had not yet sufficient furniture. Convalescing soldiers, who were the only nurses, could not be expected to bestow on the sick the tender care they required. No woman of a religious order had ever before been seen in Jefferson, and such of the soldiers as had heard of them had heard little that was construed to their advantage. The Sisters, therefore, on taking charge of the hospital met with a very cold reception. They showed neither surprise nor annoyance at this, and very soon the coldness and prejudice disappeared, being followed by appreciation and gratitude.
On entering the hospital they found a poor soldier in a woefully neglected condition, lying on a blanket laid on the floor. One of the Sisters requested the nurse to allow her to have a little water. When she received it she knelt beside the poor sufferer and bathed his face and hands. The nurse, a rather stern person, stood by during the process.
“May I ask, madam,” said he when she finished, “is that man a relative of yours?”
“No, sir,” she replied, “I never saw him before; we are here to take care of the sick, and we attend every patient as we would our nearest and dearest relative.”